An Introvert Wonders

I sit here, wondering,

it’s what introverts do best.

Wondering why, 

wondering how,

wondering who I am,

in all of the messiness.

Do I matter?

There are smarter people,

who know what they’re doing,

who have all the answers.

I sit in a morass of thoughts,

thick as spilled molasses,

oozing slowly down,

creating a sticky mess.

I’m stuck in its grip,

but the mess is my own,

my thoughts a jumble,

my heart heavy,

I’m in the grip,

of thoughts dark and deep.

You’re not worthy,

to stand among the elite,

the voices within shout.

Don’t even try, life’s too short.

Disappear into the dusk,

into the shades of night,

Yet, the words fight,

to break down the 

barriers of the heart.

I stand in the storm,

refusing to back down,

refusing to be quiet any longer.

Incomplete poetry,

of a broken mind,

seeking a voice in the chaos.

Love being the catalyst,

the heart open to hear,

gazing out onto the world,

seeing beauty in the ugly.

Holding tightly to her,

in the nightly hours,

in the midst of the night terrors, 

that plague the introverts thoughts.


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